Fifteen Tries
by I'm gonna raichu a story
Summary: "Crap, I honestly thought the fifteenth try was edible." the Brit muttered. "Wait, what? It took you fifteen tries to make that slop?" Francis asked unbelievingly.
1. Intro

**Hello to all my FanFic readers! This is my first FrUk FanFic so please don't be too harsh! Please review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia...**

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"Hey Francis, come on." Arthur said as he led the way to the backyard. Francis could've sworn he heard some sort of banging upstairs, but decided to ignore it. When they arrived, he saw that there was a picnic table set up with some kind of repugnant purplish-orange liquid slosh with chunks of green plasma floating inside a bowl in the middle. The Frenchman stopped dead in his tracks and eyed the Brit suspiciously.

"What? ...what is this?" Francis asked hesitantly.

"Well, for past few months you've been persistently pursuing me, and I've always turned you down. But I realized that that was rude and I should at least give you a chance. So I called you over on a date." The Englishman answered innocently.

"Ohhonhonhon, so you've finally succumbed to charm," Francis chuckled as he sat down in a chair by the picnic table. "Well, I can't act like I'm surprised. I knew it would happen eventually."

"How dare you- eh hem. I mean, of course I would," Arthur said through the most genuine smile he could muster. "Who wouldn't fall for that smile, or those gorgeous blue orbs of yours?"

"Yes, they are gorgeous aren't they?" Francis agreed as gazed into a mirror that seemed to appear out of thin air.

"Anyway, let's get to the date now, shall we?"Arthur suggested, sitting in a chair across from the Frenchman.

"Sure," Francis replied, putting his mirror on the table. "So, what are we going to do? Go to the toxic waste facility and give them this purple glop? Because that seems like an awful idea for a date."

"Um...no," the Brit said trying not to yell at the man for insulting his food. "We are going to have lunch together." Francis didn't quite understand how they were going to lunch with no food in sight, until Arthur took the bowl in front of him and started to put some of the purple slop in it.

"Hey, um... what are you doing?" Francis inquired.

"Just giving you some of the food silly."

"Uh huh and where did you get that...'food'?"

"I made it, of course."

"I knew it!" Francis cried. "Look, if you didn't want to date me, you could have just told me. There was no need to try to poison me, that's just below the belt."

"I wasn't trying to poison you, you bloody wanker! I just wanted you to try my food." Arthur yelled as he dropped the bowl in his hands. The purple glop landed on the grass and it started to sizzle.

"See! You see that? You were too trying to poison me!" the Frenchman accused.

"Crap, I honestly thought the fifteenth try was edible." the Brit muttered.

"Wait, what? It took you fifteen tries to make that slop?" Francis asked unbelievingly. "What was it supposed to be anyway?"

"Just because you think it's poison, doesn't mean that it still isn't technically food!"

"That's not what I meant. I mean, what type of dish of is it?" Francis asked, trying to place a name on the repugnant purplish-orange liquid slosh with chunks of green plasma floating inside that sat in front of him.

"Wait? What do you mean what _type_ of dish?" the Brit asked. Francis looked quizzically at the Englishman.

"I mean, what were you trying to prepare for me? Fish and chips? Bangers and mash?"

"I still don't know what you're talking about."

"Okay, um...what kind of recipe did you did look at to make this meal?"

"Recipe? No, a true Englishmen would not forfeit to cooking by a recipe. We simply toss a bunch of things we find around the house into the pot and stir." Francis stared at the Brit, horrified as he tried to process what he just said. "Wait, did you say things you find around the _house_?"

"Yeah, pencils, briefcases, toxic waste, what's ever closest to you really." Arthur explained.

"When would you have _toxic waste _in your kitchen?" The Frenchman questioned a little more terrified of the dish in front of him.

"When you have a brother like Alfred, who insists that toxic waste can give you superpowers, you kind of have to have it on hand. But don't look so frightened, I didn't put any in this meal. Oh and what's a kitchen?"

"You know, the part of the house where your cook food. Or in your case, slop. It usually consists of a fridge, stove, cabinet, etc."

"So, that's what that room is for. I thought it was for decoration."

"What? Then how did you make that...thing?" Francis asked, pointing at the purplish-orange slosh.

"Oh, I just used the cauldron."

"What?"

"You know, the large black bowl everyone has in their backyard. Honestly, you know about the kitchen but not the cauldron?"

"Wait, you have a cauldron in your backyard? Then how come I don't see it?" Francis watched as the Englishman got up and took off the large rag that covered the object in the middle of the yard. Sure enough, a large black cauldron appeared as the Brit removed the cloth.

"So that's why it must've taken you fifteen tries," Francis said, glaring at the large black bowl. As he continued to stare at the bowl where things go to die, something dawned upon him. "But I can't imagine anything worse than this."

"Then you really should have seen the first fourteen tries."


	2. First Five

**So here's my second chapter, enjoy! Please read and review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia...**

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"My first were relatively worse than this one , considering the first one winked at me." the Englishman said, sitting back down in his chair.

"It what?"

"Winked, but I honestly didn't have a problem with that considering I once had a full conversation with one of my meals, however when I looked it up online I realized that apparently, that's not supposed to do that."

"Uh huh, and what happened to the second one?"

"Oh, that's actually quite a story."

~~~~~~~~~~flashback~~~~~~~~~

*DING*

"My food must be done," Arthur realized as his timer went off. He grabbed a plate of the table and went to go take his 'food' out of the cauldron. When he had platted it, he went to go sit down. As he was about to taste the reddish-brown slop he had created, a rope seemed to form on the side of it. The food appeared to have grown arms and yanked the cord out of its body. The meal then swiftly tied the rope around his neck and pulled. Arthur didn't really process rwhat was happening until he saw dish's loosen its grip on the cord. He then rapidly called 911 in hopes that they would here in time to save his meal's life. Unfortunately, they arrived seconds too late and he didn't make it.

~~~~~~~~End of Flashback~~~~~~

"I think he would appreciate if you could attend the funeral." England said as he poured some tea into a cup. "It's next Friday."

"Are you trying to tell me that your dish committed suicide?" Francis asked, horrified at the idea.

"Shame too, he had such a full life ahead of him."

"I see, so what happened to the third attempt?"

"That one was fairly interesting."

~~~~~~~~~~flashback~~~~~~~~~~

"Just because my first two tries didn't turn out right, that's doesn't mean I should give up," Arthur reasoned as he put his third try onto a plate. He went to go sit down and was about to taste the turquoise substance he had prepared when it started to melt through the plate.

"Oh my gosh! Well, I guess this just means I need to eat it quickly then," Arthur said as he tried to quickly scoop up some of his creation, but it was too late. There was already a hole through the table where his meal was supposed to be. The Brit looked under the table and sure enough, there was a hole in the ground.

~~~~~~~~~~~end of flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"And that's why I had to throw away that table." Arthur explained while sipping his tea.

"Okay, so if that really happened, where's the hole?" The Frenchman questioned.

"Look under the table and find out."

"Fine, I will." Francis dunked his head and took a glance underneath the table. "What the hell?!" Francis cried as he lifted his head to gawk at the Brit. "There really is a hole in the ground! And you can still see the turquoise thing on the edge!"

"Yeah, I already told you that. Did you not believe me?"

"No, but that's my fault. I should know better than undermine your cooking. What happened to your fourth one?"

"Oh, well, I don't really like to talk about that one."

"Why is that_ mon cher_?"

"You know what? Never mind, I'm pretty sure it's nothing."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur was putting his fourth attempt on a plate when it jumped off and started to run around his backyard. The Brit quickly grabbed the bat by his house and starting to chase the his 'so called food'. When he was close enough, he started to beat down on his meal. When he saw blood escaping from the dish's body, he realized that gone too far and stopped attacking it. He reached down and tried to find a pulse, but couldn't detect one. His heart was racing, eyes searching across the yard to find some sort of way out of this trouble. When he saw the shovel that leaned on the house, he knew what had to be done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~end of flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You murdered your dish?" Francis asked, his mouth agape.

"What? Murder? What about murder? I didn't say anything about murder," Arthur said frantically, tea shaking in hand.

"Well, you said it had no pulse and the thing about the shovel. I can only guess-"

"That's right, guess. **You can** **only guess**,"The Brit said sternly making the Frenchman shiver in his seat. "Anyway, my fifth try was kind of weird."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~flashback~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur was walking back from retrieving his fifth try from the cauldron. _Hmmm, this one is looking especially delectable, _he thought looking down at the glowing blue soup in his hands. As the Englishman was daydreaming about how his food would taste like, he accidently tripped over the shovel lying on the ground. As soon as his meal hit the ground, it shattered into a million pieces. _How on Earth does soup shatter?_ The Brit thought as stood up and dusted off his pants. _Well, I suppose I could fry it. _Arthur then tried to collect the pieces, but as soon as he got close to them, they slithered away too fast for him to catch them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~end of flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	3. 6-9

**I hope you like this story! Please R&R!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia! Why do you keep asking me?**

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"Wait, do you mean slither, like a snake?" Francis asked.

"No, it slithered like bear," Arthur replied sarcastically, removing his tea from his lips.

"Whatever, how did your sixth one fail?"

"It wasn't as much failing, as it flew out the window."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_I think this dish needs more basil,_ Arthur thought as he carried his sixth attempt inside. He placed the dish on the table, and went to go look for the spice. As he was searching, he heard some kind of noise come from where his meal was. He turned around and was shocked to see the yellowish-green slosh he had created standing up, smiling at him.

"Hello!"

"Whatever," Arthur said blowing his meal off, while heading back outside.

"Now hold on there just a darn tootin second," his dish cried at the Brit before he made it to his backyard. "What makes you think you can be so rude to me? You know what? I will not just sit here and take it! I hereby vow that one day, I will come back to haunt you and your children." The slosh promised, waving his fist at him. Before Arthur could process what had just happened, his dish turned around and jumped out the nearest window. That was enough to snap the Brit out of his trance, and he ran to window just in time to see his meal spread out his wings and soar across the sky. _Well, that escalated quickly._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~end of flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Your dish vowed to haunt you and your children?" Francis questioned unbelievingly.

"Yes, it was most unsettling," Arthur replied as he finished his tea.

"I almost don't want to know what happened to your seventh one."

"I have to say though, that one was the most annoying."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_I hope this one is successful, _the Brit thought as he put his dish on the counter. _ Now all I need to do is make myself some tea. _He went to his cabinet and took out some tea bags. The dirty blond was about to get a tea cup when he heard someone talk behind him.

"I want to be put on a silver plate, not a gold one!" He heard the voice yell behind him. He turned around and saw that it was his meal talking to him. _What exactly do I put in this dishes that makes them come to life? _Arthur wondered as he approached his meal.

"And I want to be green, not this stupid scarlet color!" It complained again.

"Stop whining! I'm not going to put you on a different plate, and you are going to be happy about!" Arthur reprimanded.

"No! I don't want to be put on this stupid plate!"

"That's it! I'm locking you in my spare bedroom until you learn how to behave."

"NO! I don't want to go!"

"Well, I guess I'm just going to have to carry you up then." The Englishman picked up his dish and carried him up to the spare room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ end of flashback ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As if on cue, there was a loud bang that came from the house.

"Hey, stop it! If you keep on creating more of a ruckus you won't get any of dinner that I'm making!" Arthur warned as he poured himself some more tea.

"Woohoo! I ain't gotta eat dinner. I ain't gotta eat dinner," The meal chanted in reply.

"What, no! That's not how you're supposed to react!"

"_Mon cher, _did you really think depriving it of your food would be in any way a form of punishment?" Francis asked.

"Yes! That way he goes to bed hungry."

"Let's weigh the two options, shall we? Going to bed hungry or having to get your stomach pumped two times?"

"Okay, my food isn't that bad."

"Um, so far every meal you've made so far has came to life. I don't think you're at liberty to gauge how bad your food is." The blond replied. "Plus, the first time I ate your food, I had to have my stomach pumped _three_ times."

"A minor fatality that comes from eating my delicious food," Arthur responded, waving off the idea.

"More like vomit inducing," the Frenchman muttered under his breath.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

"Nothing _mon lapin_. Please, continue."

"Okay. Well for my eight one, there really isn't much to tell."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Okay, now all I need to do is plate my eighth try, _Arthur thought while stirring his puke green creation. He looked around and saw he had no more plates left outside. _Guess I better get some more then._ He stopped mixing his dish and went inside to grab more he came back, he looked inside his cauldron and saw his meal had disappeared. _What the hell? _The Brit searched his backyard and even went back inside to check if the dish was there, but his attempts were fruitless. His meal had just simply vanished.

~~~~~~~~~~end of flashback~~~~~~~

"Your dish just disappeared?" the Francis questioned, scanning the area. "Meaning that it could be anywhere?"

"I suppose so. Hey, do you want some tea?" Arthur offered, trying to distract the Frenchman.

"No, I do not want any tea. You probably ruined that too."

"What, no! As a true Englishman is it impossible to ruin tea." As Arthur was about to drink more of his tea, his drink cried something out.

"Hello!" the Brit's tea chirped.

"Well, nearly impossible." The Englishman said, looking down at his tea."In any case, let's keep the ball rolling. I didn't really my ninth one. It acted like a know-it-all."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Hmmmmmmm, I think dish needs more cumin, _the Brit thought carrying his ninth try inside. He set his pitch black slosh that was covered with pink dots on the counter then went to his cabinet to get the cumin. When he found the spice, he went back to the counter where his dish laid. He was about to start season his dish when it grew a hand and grabbed his arm.

"Stop! You already put enough cumin in me!" it yelled.

"No, I have not!" Arthur argued.

"Yes, you have! In fact, you threw in a whole jar of it when you were creating me. I'm surprised you still have more!"

"I made you! I think I know how to spice my own dishes."

"The fact that I'm alive right now means you can't make food, much less season it."

"You can't compare those two things. Seasoning a dish is so much easier than actually making it."

"I object to that! Seasoning is an art, it takes years to master!"

"Who do you think you are? Some sort of seasoning master or something?"

"Not a master, I'm more like at the intermediate level. Here, just give me some oregano and I'll show you."

"I will do nothing of the sort. If you really feel that I cannot spice you properly, then you are free to go."

"Well then fine, I will." The black and pink slop sat up and jumped off the counter, then ran to the front door. It slammed the door on it's the way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~end of flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. 10&11

**I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Please, please review!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own hetalia...**

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"Needless to say, we are no longer on speaking terms." the Brit explained.

"Fascinating. Do you mind doing something about that?" Francis said, pointing to the the tea in Arthur's hands. "It's kinda freaking me out."

"Yes, I do mind. I like him, he's like my own version of Chip from Beauty and the Beast. Isn't that right Chippy?"

"Yeah!" Chippy (the tea) replied.

"You do know that Chip was the actual cup right? Not the tea inside." the Frenchman pointed out.

"Yes, I know that, but until you can tell me how to bring tea cups to life, Chippy will do."

" You do you realize that you look madder than the Mad Hatter talking to that drink of yours?"

"Do you really think so? I've always considered him as a role model," Arthur said to the blond who was now shaking his head. "Let's advance to my tenth dish, shall we? He and I actually got along pretty well."

"Did you refer to your dish as a 'he'?"

"Really? You realize this now? I've called every single one of my dishes by a pronoun." The Brit responded incredulously. "But nevermind that, let's get back to the story."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Please don't come to life, please don't come to life, _the Englishman chanted as he placed his neon orange dish on the picnic table.

"Well, howdy sir," His meal greeted in a southern accent. _Damn it_, Arthur thought plopping in a chair.

"So, how come you have that accent?" the Brit asked.

"Remember when you put those cowboy boots put in me?"

"Oh yeah," The brit said, recalling the event. "So, what do you wanna do now?"

"Well aren't you gonna eat me?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I actually don't enjoy eating foods that can talk."

"Well, then why do you make all your dishes like that?"

"I don't plan on it, it just happens!"

"Woah, cool down pal. Wanna talk about it over tea?" the meal offered motioning to the teapot beside it.

"Sure," The Englishman then proceeded to pour the tea into two cups, giving one to it's dish. "Do you mind if I call you Sam? I just want to be able to call you something."

"Actually, I'd prefer it if you call me Jett. It's is my given name afterall."

"That's a cool name. Which parent decided to call you that?"

"Oh, well that was my father," Jett said in a hush tone.

"Why did you whisper that?"

"'Cause I don't like to talk about him, much less even mention his name. But I shouldn't even be talking about this. A true southern gent would never trouble anyone with their problems."

"No, I want to hear about. In fact, I insist you tell me."

"Well, I mean if you want me to, then I guess I could. A few years ago, my father and I had a heated argument and haven't talked since."

"Have you ever called him to apologize?"

"No, but he has called me. I've just been too stubborn to even pick up the phone and hear him out."

"You know what you should do then? You should go visit your father and hear him out in person."

"I don't know if I could do that. I mean, we haven't talked to each other in a really long to time. How will I be sure if he wants to see me?"

"He's your father, he'll always want to see you," the Brit reasoned.

"You know what? You're right, I'm going to go see him. I'm going to go see him right now." With that, Jett jumped off the table and started to head for the fence gate.

"Wait!" the dirty blond cried, catching up to the yellow figure. "Call me after you talk to your dad. My number is 834-3390."

"I'll make sure to do so," Jett said. "Thanks for all the help."

"No problem. Now go on, the sooner you go, you sooner you get reconcile with your father."

"You're right." Jett swiftly unlocked the gate, and was on his way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~end of flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I hope he makes up with his father," Chippy called out.

"So do I," Arthur agreed, smiling at the drink.

"How the hell did Jett have an argument with his dad years ago if you made him two minutes beforehand?" the Frenchman questioned

"That's not the point. The you point is that I helped somebody and you didn't. Making me a better person than you are."

"_Quoi? _How does that have-"

"Anyway," the Brit interrupted. "my eleventh one was the most heroic."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ flashback ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_How the hell is this dish snow white? _Arthur thought, staring down at his dish. _I literally threw dirt in this. _The Englishman, not paying attention to where he was walking, accidently bumped into a barrel of toxic waste and threw his inside. He starred as the toxic waste started to boil. _Well, that one's gone. Guess I should start working on my twelfth one. _He was just about to go back to the cauldron, when he something emerged from the barrel and shot into the sky. He looked up and saw it was his dish in a super hero pose with a purple cape hanging from it's neck.

"I am Toxic Sludge!" it proclaimed. Arthur was still attempting to process what just happened when a purple TS highlighted the sky. The Brit quickly realized what was happening and knew that someone, somewhere needed Toxic Sludge so he cried to him, "Go! Go Toxic Sludge, they need you out there!". The super sludge hugged the Brit and whispered to him, "I'll never forget you," then he was off. _I'll never forget you too, _Arthur thought as he watch his dish fly away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ end of flashback ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	5. Tries 12 and 13

**I hope you love this chapter as much as I loved writing it! Please review! I need them for motivation!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia...**

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"I'll truly miss him," the Englishman reminisced, wiping away a tear."But he had bigger things ahead of him than being cooped up here."

"Are you trying to tell me that your dish fell into toxic waste and grew mutant superpowers?" Francis inquired.

"Oh, remind me to tell that to Alfred later."

"Do I even want to know what happened to your twelfth one?"

"I don't really like talking about him, he was a real jerk."

"_Pourquoi? _What did he do?"

"Let's just say, number twelve was a smooth talker."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ flashback ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_This one kind of looks familiar,_ Arthur thought, putting his dish on the table. This particular one was purple slosh with a yellow patch on the top. _I must be imagining things, _he rationalized, waving off the idea. _This one doesn't look like it coming to life anytime soon, I might be able actually taste it._

"_Bonjour mon cher_," The dish greeted in a french accent.

"Crap," Arthur said, falling into a chair.

"What is ze matter? Do you not wish to see me?"

"No, I want you to be here. I just don't want you to talk."

"Oh,_ je suis tres désolé. _I will stop talking immediately."

"No, it's not that. I meant that I don't want you a to be _able_ to talk. So, far every single dish I've made have shown signs of human life. I haven't eaten anything all day."

"Well, if it helps, I'll treat you to dinner if you want," the dish offered. Arthur didn't know if it was because he found his creation strangely enticing or the fact that he had been denied food all day, but he accepted his meal's offer.

"Sure, I'd like that...um, what should I call you?"

"You can call me Francois."

"Okay then, Francois, how are going to go about this? Are you going to make dinner or take me to a restaurant?"

"I zink I will make you dinner. I know this _incroyable_ recipe for ratatouille."

"That sounds delicious." Arthur and Francois had a fun filled dinner with lots of laughs and witty banter. The couple then proceeded to have five more dates just like that and things were going swimmingly between the two until that night. _Tonight's the night I make it official, _The Englishman thought as he silently entered the house. _I think we already boyfriends though, considering what we did last night, but I still want to do it anyway. _He quietly crept up the stairs, wanting to surprise his lover. When he opened their bedroom door, he was shocked to see another naked man laying beside Francois in _their _bed.

"Francois, what the hell is this?!"

"Ah, zis is not what it's looks like," the dish defended.

"Oh really? So you didn't just have sex with the whore next to you?" Arthur questioned, crossing his arms and eyeing Francois incredulously.

"Okay, so maybe it is was looks like, but in my defense, you weren't supposed to be home till seven."

"So that made this okay for some reason? Hell no! Get out of my bed, my house, and, most importantly, my life."

"But _Cheri, _I lo-"

"Just shut up and get the hell out, the both of you!" the Brit yelled pointing at the door.

"If zhats what you truly desire, then I shall leave." Francois put on all of his clothes and gloomily left the room, followed by the man he cheated on Arthur with.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ end of flashback ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I have to say I'm offended," the Frenchman said. "I mean, you slept with one of your creations rather than even going on a date with me."

"My dish was a proper gentleman, unlike you," Arthur explained. "Well, I mean, before he cheated on me and all."

"_Oh mon cher, Je suis vraiment désolé pour votre douleur."_ Francis comforted, reaching over to put his hand on the dirty blond's knee. "Perhaps if you let me take me upstairs, I could make you feel better."

"I suppose, I am feeling kind of-wait! See this is what I'm talking about! Francois would never do this!" the Englishman accused, shoving the frog's hand off of his leg.

"Oh, so apparently now it's better to cheat on someone than to try and comfort them? Well excuse me, I didn't get the memo."

"Oh, come on Francy, that was below the belt!" Chippy cried.

"I couldn't have said it better myself, thank you Chippy." the green-eyed man commented.

"Wait, what? That thing was just created like, two seconds ago. How the hell does it already know idioms? This is just as ridiculous as Jett!" the blond exclaimed.

"Okay, A. Chippy and I like to use the term born instead of created. B. Don't doubt my little Chippy's intelligence. He is a very fast learner."

"Whatever, can we just continue the story?"

"Glady. My thirteenth one was the sweetest."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_And done, _Arthur thought tiredly as he finished stirring his thirteenth attempt. "Now all I have to do is plate it, but my arms are still sore from plating all my other dishes."

"No worries, I'll do it!"

"What? Who said that?" the Brit asked, suddenly alert and and scanning the backyard for the culprit.

"I did! The dish!" his meal cried out.

"Oh, so you're alive now too? Why am I not surprised? Wait, did you just offer to put yourself on a plate for me?"

"Yeah, I mean, you said your arms were sore so I thought you'd might want me to do it for you."

"Okay," the Englishman agered, grabbing a plate off the table and putting it in front of the cauldron. "So how do we do this?"

"Just hold it still right there." The dish then proceeded to lift himself from the cauldron and put his body on the plate.

"Cool, let's go inside now so I can season you."

"Wait, what? You're not creeped out or anything? What I did is not exactly normal."

"Funny thing is, this is not the strangest thing I've seen one of my dishes do." Arthur explained, placing his meal in the counter so he could go retrieve some spices.

"Do I wanna know what they did?"

"No, not really," the Brit replied, returning with some spices. "To be honest, I kind of wish I could forget what some of them did." _Especially you number twelve._

"Oh, I'm sorry. Well, anyway, do you want me to spice myself for you?"

"What? Are you insinuating that I cannot season my dishes properly, because that is preposterous!"

"No, of course not! I just thought your arm was still hurting."

"Oh, that's sweet."

"Aw, thank you," the dish blushed. "And after that, I could feed myself to you."

"Well, I obviously couldn't eat you anymore. You're too precious for that. How about you go upstairs and go relax in one of my bedrooms. I would say my room if it wasn't such a mess."

"I'll do one better, I'll organize your room for you," the meal offered, jumping off the counter and walking towards the stairs.

"Oh no, you really don't have to do that."

"Please, I insist. After all, you did give me life. It's the least I can do in return." And with that, the dish swiftly made his way up the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~end of flashbash~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	6. 14 - the end

**I'm actually kind of sad that this story is finished. I just enjoyed writing it so much. But who knows, maybe I'll write some kind of sequel to it? Maybe not, you know what they say, all good things much come to an end. Please Read and Review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia...**

* * *

"And as we speak, the adoption papers are being finalized," the Brit finished.

"You're adopting your dish?" Francis questioned, looking at the man incredulously.

"Obviously, I mean, what if something happened to him? If he was in the hospital, I wouldn't be allowed to visit him."

"Okay, so? It doesn't matter, it's just a dish!"

"Well I never! It's a good thing that Samuel is inside, so he can't hear you say such vile things!"

"Maybe if-wait, what? Samuel? You named your dish?"

"Well of course," the Englishman replied, as though it was obvious. "I couldn't go around calling him an it, could I? I also named my seventh one. He's called Huebert."

"Huebert? That's a horrible name."

"I know. I figure if he's going to act badly, then I'm going to give him a name like Huebert. Anyway, back to the story. My fourteenth one turned out to be a double whammy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Done, _Arthur thought, _Now all I need to do is take it out of the cauldron. _The man swiftly took his fourteenth try out of the bowl, but there was a little piece of it stuck at the bottom that he tried fruitlessly to obtain, but finally decided to give up and go back to his seat. When the Brit was in his chair, he realized that he forgot his phone by the cauldron. When he arrived, he realized that the black bowl was filled again. _What the scallop? Whoa, I've been watching way too much Spongebob. How did this happen though? Did this dish grow from the piece that was stuck in here?_

"Hello there," the dish greeted, interrupting his thoughts.

"Hmm, oh hello," the Englishman replied.

"You seemed kind of surprised to see me."

"I shouldn't be though, this happened to me before."

"Really?"

"Yeah, in fact, this is actually one of the more normal times. Well, I suppose, I should bring you back to the table with me now." The dirty blond plated the meal, went back to the table, and set the meal on the table with his other one. He was about to take a bite of his abiotic dish, when it promptly grew a face and turned to face the meal beside it.

"Ilene?" it asked hesitantly. "Is that you?"

"Yes," Ilene (the meal) responded. "But how would...unless...Kevin?"

"Yes! It's me, Kevin!" Kevin exclaimed.

"Oh my dear God! I thought I'd never see you again!" Ilene cried, pulling the other meal into a warm embrace.

"Yeah, me neither," Kevin said, letting Ilene go to look her in the eyes. "You know, since Peru."

"Oh yeah," the female dish replied, nervously rubbing her shoulder. "It's been a long time."

"Seven years, five months, two days, six hours, and twenty-three minutes to be exact," Kevin explained sheepishly, glancing at his watch. "I've been keeping track. May I asked what happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why didn't you follow me to Peru? You were supposed to come after your semester was over."

"I-I don't know. I guess I kind of forgot."

"Forgot?" Kevin gritted through his teeth furiously. "How can you forgot that we were supposed to be married? Or that we were hopelessly love with each other?!"

"I don't know, I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You're sorry? About what exactly? Are you sorry about the fact that I waited at the airport for five hours waiting for you in the rain with a bouquet of your favorite flowers? Or called your number endlessly for five days straight even though it told me that your line was disconnected but I continued anyway because I refused to believe you would do that to me? Or perhaps it was when-"

"Please stop," Ilene pleaded. "I said I was sorry."

"But doesn't make me feel better, Ily. Look, I just want to know what happened. Was it me? Was I not good enough? Was there someone else? I need to know!"

"No, it's was none of those things!" Ilene sobbed. "I can't believe you would ever think that."

"Well, what am I supposed to think when the love of my life suddenly never wants to see my face again?"

"That's not true! I wanted to be with you every single one days when we were apart!"

"Then what happened? Because frankly my dear, I'm still a bit confused."

"It wasn't you, okay? It was me. I didn't want to get married."

"To me right? You didn't want to get married to me?"

"No! Stop jumping to conclusions! Will you just shut up and listen to me, you baka?!"

"I don't really consider it jumping to conclusions when you I've seven years to think about it."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I meant I didn't want to get married _yet._ I knew one day I did, and to you, no doubt about that, but I wasn't ready at the time. I mean, we were just in our sophomore year of college when you got offered that job in Peru. I was really excited for you, and when you asked me to marry you, I just said yes in the heat of the moment. I mean, we were just too young to be thinking about that sort of thing."

"Then why didn't you tell me that?"

"The next day you asked me to move to Peru with you when school year was over, and told me if I wouldn't go with you, you wouldn't accept the job anymore. I didn't want you to give on the job, I could see the pure joy and excitement on your face when you were offered it, and I didn't want you to give it all up. So I said yes, and just kept telling myself that just because I was going to go to Peru with you, that didn't mean we were going to get married right away. Then you left when the first semester was over and I missed you so much that I knew I was doing the right thing. Two weeks after that though, you called me and said you arranged for us to get married a month after I was supposed to be in Peru. That you invited your whole family already, found the church, and even started looking for catering companies. It was just so overwhelming."

"You should've told me that, I would've understood."

"But I didn't want to let you down. You were so happy when you telling me all the plans you had for our wedding and how you wanted us to get married so much that I couldn't just crush your hopes and dreams."

"What? So you just waited for that summer to do it?"

"No, of course not. After the conversation on the phone, I convinced myself that I really loved you and it wouldn't make a difference if I married you then or in ten years, we would still be together anyway and it would've made you happy."

"And?"

"Well, turns out it did make a difference, a huge one in fact. The morning of the day I was suppose to go to Peru, I realized something. I really didn't want to get married, I wasn't ready. So why was I rushing? I would always love you, so we could get married later. I wanted to finish college, and I didn't want to have to transfer to one in Peru where I'd probably have to learn a new language. But I couldn't tell you that. I was way too embarrassed for that. I figured that if you really loved me you would come back here and stay with me. Then two years passed and nothing. So I left, always hoping that one day we would meet again."

"I did really love you, you have to believe that. But how was I suppose to know you wanted me to come back? I couldn't contact you in any way."

"I know, over the years I realized that was a mistake on my part. But since we're both in the same country again, do you mind if we give it another go?"

"You have no idea how much I would love that, but I think this Brit here is going to eat us."

"That's fine," Ilene smiled, grabbing her ex-lover's hand. "But at least we're together."

"You're absolutely right. So go ahead, eat us," Kevin grinned, turning to look at Arthur. "If I die now, I'll die a happy ma- dish."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~end of flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Well, Francis, as man from the country of love, you knew what had to be done," the dirty blond smirked. "They were so much in love that I couldn't possibly eat them and let them go on their merry way."

"Right, it's the fact that they were in love, not just because they were alive, and were perfectly capable of having a conversation."

"Why do you always have to bring us down Francy?" Chippy asked. "Just sit back and enjoy the moment."

*Ding*

"Oh. my dish must be done," Arthur said, carefully putting Chippy on the table and walking towards the cauldron.

"What? When did you have time to make another dish?" the Frenchman inquired. "You were talking to me the whole time."

"I made it before you came. I always knew there was a chance that the food I gave you may wouldn't exactly be edible so I made this dish just in case. I- What the?" the Brit looked down into his cauldron and was shocked to see a crystal clear turkey inside. _This looks edible, I could probably eat it._

"What is it?"

"Nothing, just hold on a second." Francis starred with his mouth agape at the green-eyed man placing what he thought was a turkey on the table.

"That's it. I'm done. There's no way in hell I'm eating that. I'm going to go home and make myself some dinner and I suggest you join me, unless you'd rather eat your own food, and get your stomach pumped." Francis said, getting up and walking towards the fence, motioning for the Brit to follow.

"What? No way am I leaving a perfectly good turkey to have some of your crappy French food. Go ahead without me." The Englishman explained, sitting down in front of his see-through turkey.

"Fine, it's just your life on the line," the blond mumbled while exiting the backyard. _Okay, now what should I eat first?_ Arthur thought while staring at his meal. _I think I'll start with the leg._ But as soon as he broke of the leg, purple ooze started to drip out where the meat should been. _What the hell? Wouldn't I see if this thing were purple on the inside?_ He started to poke the turkey with the fork when it swiftly absorbed the utensil , but for some reason the Brit could not see where the fork had gone. _It's silver and the turley is clear, it only makes sense for me to be able to see where the fork went, right? I me-, _the man's thought were abruptly interrupted when his turkey seemed to grow a face on the side of it.

"Um...hello?" the dirty blond asked hesitantly.

"EAT ME!" it cried back. "EAT ME! EAT ME!"

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" the Englishman screamed, before jumping up from his seat, grabbing Chippy, and frantically running towards the fence. " Francis, hold on! I'm coming with you!"


End file.
